Passing Time
by Pamena
Summary: Changing one thing changes all. But can you really fight Fate? What if, no matter what, She always wins? A Passing Strange Alternate Universe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**-So basically, this started out as my Christmas gift to Robynne. I presented her with the idea of Toby's presence in Passing Strange, and how it might have changed things, or not changed things, in some cases. I was just fiddling around with it, but she really loved the idea, so this is for her. It's an ongoing project of mine that still isn't complete, and I'm posting it because Robynne says it's okay. Haha This is mostly just about Toby and how Sweeney and Eleanor would have interacted with him had he been in Passing Strange. I'm not sure if anyone is interested, so let me know if you are because there's more to post Also, Robynne did not edit this, so excuse any mistakes. I'm practically lost without her guidance. Haha

**Disclaimer** – The only thing I own is the plot, unfortunately.

**Summary** - Changing one thing changes all. But can you really fight Fate? What if, no matter what, She always wins?

Passing Time

_In Which There Are Negotiations Over Breakfast_

Pancakes are stacked precariously atop one another on a small plate on the kitchen counter. Next to the sweet-smelling breakfast food is a bottle of syrup, a dish of butter, and a large tub of whipped cream. Eleanor Lovett stands nervously in front of the impressive display, hands behind her back, as the apartment door opens at exactly four o'clock. She listens as he goes about his usual routine after a long day at school. A heavy sigh, the thud of a bag laden with books hitting the floor, tennis shoes being slipped off and dropped to the floor, and finally, weary footsteps making their way into the kitchen for a snack.

"Mum?" Toby calls. "I'm home! What smells so good?"

Back straightening, Eleanor stands at attention, flashing the boy a brilliant smile when he enters the kitchen. He stops in his tracks when he sees her standing there, eyes narrowing warily. She ignores his suspicion and says lightly, "Made you pancakes, love. Your favorite."

Toby sighs, his shoulders drooping slightly as he shuffles over to the counter and lifts himself up onto the stool. Staring glumly down at his plate, the twelve year old says, " 'E's 'ere again, isn't 'e?"

There is a beat of silence before Eleanor shifts and murmurs, " 'E's in the guest bedroom."

" 'Ow long this time?" Toby snips irritably. "A day? A month? Guess we won't know till 'e's gone, will we?"

"Toby!" She admonishes quietly, her voice pained. "Stop it."

Poking at his stack of pancakes with his fork, Toby frowns guiltily. "Sorry, mum."

Letting out a breathless sigh, Eleanor steps closer to her son and places a soothing hand on his back. "I don't know 'ow long 'e'll be 'around this time, but while 'e's in town I want 'im to stay 'ere." She pauses, watching Toby glare at his plate. "And when e's gone, we'll go back to the way we were. It's the same as always, love."

Toby snorts at this. "Yeah, it is the same. S'why I don't like it. Whenever 'e leaves, you go into this...funk. And it's always at least a week before you really look at me again! I won't let 'im keep doin' this, mum! It ain't right!"

"Sshh!" Eleanor shushes him, glancing over her shoulder nervously before pulling the boy into her arms. She smiles softly, finding it remarkable that after hundreds of years of formal education, the boy still uses the word 'ain't' in his everyday vocabulary. "Hush now. Don't be silly, darlin'. Everythin's goin' to be just fine this time, I promise." Closing her eyes, she runs nimble fingers through Toby's hair. "Don't worry about me, lovey. I 'ave a good feelin' about this." She smiles, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Just trust me on this one, aye?"

Toby shrugs, still moping. "Whatever you say, mum."

She smiles. "That's my boy. Now eat your pancakes 'fore they get cold."

XxX

Breakfast the next morning is awkward as Toby glares at Sweeney from across the kitchen table. The man is ignoring his bowl of cereal and Toby in the interest of reading the New York Times but every so often, his eyes flicker to the boy's glowering ones and he smirks in return.

Eleanor breezes happily into the room and Toby immediately drops his gaze, knowing the scolding he would get for being uncivil at the breakfast table. She ruffles his hair as she passes, on her way to the coffee pot. "Toby, did you get your 'omework finished last night?"

He winces. "Not exactly." His mother fixes him with a reproving look, and he hurries to explain himself. "It's fractions, mum! I've done it 'undreds of times! There's no challenge anymore! It gets right borin' after a while!"

"Well your teacher doesn't know that!" She sighs, looking exasperated. They have had this argument numerous times over the years, but no one ever seems to win. "You 'ave to do your schoolwork, love. 'Ow would it look if ya didn't? We need to blend in - do you want to give us away?"

"No," Toby grumbles.

She smiles, sipping at her coffee. "Then I suggest you pull out that math book."

Sighing heavily, Toby reaches down to grab the book-bag at his feet and pulls out the heavy mathematical textbook. Flipping it open and grabbing his work sheet, he scrambles for a pencil as Mr. Todd flips the pages of his newspaper.

"What are you goin' to do today while we're gone?" He hears his mum ask the stoic barber, and he cringes at the way her voice is always so much lighter when she talks to that demon. Toby doubts she even notices, but he does. He always notices.

Pretending to divide fractions, he listens carefully to Sweeney's reply. "Probably get some bloody peace and quiet," he grumbles, and Toby lifts his eyes just in time to see Sweeney glance pointedly between her and Toby, and watch his mum swat at him.

"Real subtle, love," she huffs with a roll of her eyes.

He tunes out the rest of their conversation, scribbling down homework answers with ease while trying to eat his cereal before it gets soggy. When Eleanor finally leaves the room to dress for work, Toby looks up from his homework to level Sweeney with a glare. The older man watches him with raised eyebrows, folding his paper and smoothing it out on the table in front of him.

" 'Ow long are you plannin' on stayin'?" Toby asks, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice.

"Not sure," Sweeney says unhelpfully, turning his attention to his own breakfast.

Reluctant to let the conversation go at that, Toby glances toward the kitchen entrance to make sure his mum really is in her bedroom before saying, "You'd best say goodbye this time. Nearly broke 'er 'eart last time, leavin' without so much as a note."

Toby is almost sure he sees something like guilt flash in the man's eyes before he glances down at his mug of coffee again. Encouraged, he continues before he loses his nerve. "I won't let you 'urt 'er again. You use 'er, you do. For a place to stay and a few meals." He swallows, feeling his anger toward the former murderer build with his every word. "She may not see through you, but I do."

"I'm off to work!" Eleanor calls cheerily as she wanders back into the kitchen to place a kiss to Toby's cheek. " 'Ave a good day, love." On her way out the door, she calls back over her shoulder, "You too, Sweeney!"

Toby's frown deepens at this and as the door closes behind his mum, awkward silence fills the apartment. Sweeney stares at the boy dubiously over his bowl of Fruit Loops and says nothing.

XxX

_In Which Monty Python Fixes Everything_

" 'E looked just like Toby," she says suddenly, and her voice is still raw from the hours she has spent alone crying over this lost patient. Sweeney wonders briefly why it doesn't matter to her what lives she saves, it only matters when she loses one. He stays silent, waiting for her to continue. "Thought it was 'im at first, my 'eart nearly stopped." She shakes her head, beginning to sniffle again.

"Nothing's going to happen to Toby," he assures her mechanically, staring blankly at the television, where John Cleese and Eric Idle are arguing about penguins. "Surely you know that."

Eleanor nods slowly, nuzzling her face into his shirt, and he tries not to stiffen as her curls brush against his jaw. "S'not fair. No other woman 'as that reassurance. Children die every day. I lost a patient today, but that woman lost her little boy." Covering her mouth with a slender hand, she breathes, "I can't imagine losin' a child." Something must have given him away - the way he'd stiffened, or maybe how he hadn't responded, because Eleanor suddenly straightens, staring at him through red, wide eyes, looking stricken. "Oh, love, I'm sorry. I-I wasn't thinkin'."

Face a blank mask, Sweeney turns his gaze back to the television, no longer able to stare into her eyes and see the blatant guilt lingering there. "Doesn't matter," he mutters darkly.

"It does," Eleanor says, putting a small hand on his arm. "I don't know what's the matter with me, talkin' like that. Your Johanna - "

"Eleanor," Sweeney nearly growls in exasperation. "I said it doesn't matter."

She nods once, and for a moment he's afraid she might start crying again, and while he watches her out of the corner of his eye, he almost feels guilty for being so harsh with her. She's been through enough today without him adding to her stress. However, her eyes stay dry and he finds himself oddly proud of her strength. She has always been a pillar of stability in his world - the practical, strong constant in his ever-changing universe. From year to year, there are new faces, new destinations and names to memorize, but they never last. Nothing ever lasts in his life but Eleanor, and he isn't sure what he'd do if she fell apart on him now.

He sighs, loathing the way she can get to his very core without even trying. "Johanna is dead, Eleanor. I have no idea what happened to her. My greatest hope is that she married Anthony, had children, and died a very old woman." He stops, swallowing hard.

One of many regrets in his very long life is that he never got the chance to know his only daughter, never beheld her face since she was a child. After he fled London all those years ago, he lost track of Johanna and at the time, he'd thought it was for the best. It wasn't until years later, when he realized not knowing was more torturous than seeing her again, that he tried to find her. Despite his efforts, he never did.

Feeling Eleanor's slim fingers lacing through his calloused ones, he blinks, drawing himself away from the past. He won't dwell. Not anymore. "The torture is in not knowing. Be grateful you'll always have Toby - no other parent has that guarantee. Think of it as the only good thing in this damned eternal purgatory."

Eleanor stares at him, head tilted just slightly, as though enthralled and he shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. It's the closest he's ever come to comforting her, and she must be thinking much the same thing. "Thanks, love," she finally breathes, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at her mouth. "Never thought of it like that." Sweeney shrugs, still feeling uneasy under that knowing stare of hers. As if sensing it, Eleanor's smile widens before she sighs tiredly and returns her head to his shoulder.

They sit in silence for a while, continuing to watch Monty Python until Eleanor hears the apartment door open and close, signaling Toby's return from football practice. There's a thud as he drops his football gear by the door before Toby walks into the room tugging at his hair. Eleanor jumps up so fast that Sweeney nearly drops his Mountain Dew in sheer surprise. He watches as she practically scoops Toby off his feet, hugging him tightly to her and burying her face in his football jersey. "My sweet boy," she murmurs.

Toby looks helplessly at Sweeney as he slowly wraps his arms around his mum, not offering any protest when she begins to tenderly smooth down his hair. Sweeney mouths the words, 'Lost a patient' and the boy's eyes widen in understanding. His arms tighten around his mother and Sweeney looks away, turning his eyes back to the television.

"Toby," he says, still not looking at them. "We're watching Monty Python. Care to join us?" He has a feeling that Eleanor's tight hug is scaring Toby a little, and he doubts Eleanor even wants the boy to know what happened. She protects him way too much for his own good. In any case, they both need a distraction.

Getting to her feet, Eleanor smiles brilliantly at Toby and takes him by the arm, dragging him over to the sofa to join Sweeney. "Come on, love. You missed the part about the exploding penguin, but we can rewind it!"

As they settle together on the sofa, Eleanor's head falls back to Sweeney's shoulder but she keeps a tight hold on Toby's hand. While Toby tolerates Sweeney's presence, the boy is about as fond of him as Sweeney is of Kurtis Russell. His protectiveness over Eleanor rivals that of a Rottweiler guarding its favorite stuffed toy and Sweeney glances at the boy to see his reaction to Eleanor's close proximity to him. To his surprise, Toby only meets his eyes with something akin to gratitude and mouths 'Thank you.'

XxX

_In Which Sweeney Todd Feels Guilty and Louie Gets A Home_

The mutt is still lying on the sofa next to him, spread out and sleeping peacefully. Sweeney, huddled beneath his blanket and sniffling with the effects of his cold, has pushed himself to the very end of the sofa, leaning against the arm rest and determined to be as far away from the puppy as possible.

The dog is snoring, and Sweeney is fairly certain he sees a dribble of drool hanging from its open mouth. Resisting the urge to gag, he grabs the remote control and turns up the volume, hoping to drown out the basset hound's snores and Eleanor's contented humming in the kitchen. He has yet to give her his answer about keeping the dog, but he already knows he is going to refuse. Flicking through the channels, he can't help but wonder why on earth she would think he'd actually want a puppy. They bark, they shed, they slobber, they chew on things, they leave unpleasant surprises on rugs. There is absolutely nothing good about them!

Clicking furiously through the endless supply of channels, he is lucky enough to find Ferris Bueller's Day Off on TBS and settles in to watch it. He can still remember when this had first come out in the eighties. He'd been in town to see Eleanor then, and they'd gone to a theater in her tiny Louisiana town to see it. If he recalls correctly, he spent more time dodging the popcorn kernels Eleanor had chucked his way than actually watching the film.

His faint smile at this distant memory is immediately wiped from his face when the apartment door opens and Toby walks in, home from his after-school activities. Eleanor said something about him tutoring high school seniors in American History but Sweeney had only barely been listening – it could have been preschoolers and their ABC's for all he knew. The boy drops his backpack at the door and heaves a great sigh, running a hand through his hair. From his tense shoulders, one would think he'd returned from a long day of business meetings rather than school. He hasn't yet looked in Sweeney's direction, but the slamming of the apartment has awoken the new addition to the group. The hound immediately jumps up and off the sofa, howling and running in the direction of the sound.

Toby jumps at the unexpected noise and stares in bewilderment as the dog lumbers toward him, howling. His back is against the apartment door when the dog closes in on him, stops barking, and begins sniffing Toby's pant leg curiously. After a few seconds, he apparently deems the boy no threat, and jumps up on Toby's legs, pawing at him playfully. Laughing, Toby bends down to the dog's level and scratches him atop the head.

" 'Ello there," he croons, and Sweeney very nearly rolls his eyes when he realizes the boy is just as enamored with the new mutt as his mother is. "What's your name, little fellow?"

The dog responds by craning its neck and licking the entire length of Toby's face, making the boy burst into laughter and drop to the floor to play. Sweeney sighs and turns up the volume on the television. There is no hope of getting rid of the beastly thing if Toby insists on keeping it as well.

Wandering into the living room with a bowl of soup in hand, Eleanor smiles brightly when she sees Toby on the floor, rubbing the basset hound's belly. "Oh, love! I see you've met the new puppy!"

Toby's eyes widen. "You mean 'e's ours? We can keep 'im?"

She nods, sitting next to Sweeney on the sofa and putting his soup on the coffee table. "One of the nurses found 'im on 'er doorstep this mornin'. Was goin' to take 'im to a shelter, but I told 'er I'd keep 'im instead!"

The dog flails around on his back, groaning happily as Toby continues to rub his belly. "And...Mr. Todd doesn't mind?"

Toby sounds tentative, obviously knowing of the professor's dislike for all things with four legs. Sweeney lets out a heavy sigh and bites out, "Doesn't really matter what I want, does it?"

Eleanor frowns, reaching over to place a hand on his arm, scooting closer to him. Her voice is light, but as he can sense the underlying disappointment as she says, "Sweeney, if you don't want to keep 'im, we won't. You live 'ere too, you pay rent. This place is half yours, so if ya don't want to 'ave a dog around, then we won't."

"But mum!" Toby complains, looking crestfallen as he glances back down at the puppy in his arms.

"Now Toby," she admonishes. "It's only fair that Mr. T gets a say in all this!"

Toby quiets immediately at her chastisement, and settles for half-heartedly fiddling with one of the dog's floppy ears. Eleanor amuses herself with watching Toby and the dog playing on the floor, biting down on her bottom lip. Sweeney hates it when she does that; it makes him feel horribly guilty, even when he hasn't done anything. Well, this time she will not win. He is not going to give in to her pouting.

"Won't be any fun 'avin' a dog around anyway," she continues airily. "Not if you're goin' to be un'appy."

Toby is nuzzling his face pathetically against the top of the dog's head, and Eleanor is watching them with a sad smile, drawing her knees up to her chest. He watches them for a while, eyeing Toby's delighted grin as the mutt clambers into his lap, tail wagging. There are times when he couldn't care less about Toby. But he has continually kept Eleanor company for years where Sweeney did not, has always there for her where Sweeney hasn't been. No child should be so burdened, or see the horrors this boy has seen in his many years. Toby is a one hundred sixty-four year old with a twelve year old's body and mind. He is being punished alongside them for something he had no knowledge of at the time. And Sweeney Todd is going to deny him the small pleasure of a _puppy_?

And Eleanor. He can't help but think back on the letters he'd discovered in Eleanor's room when he'd been snooping earlier today. It doesn't seem right, somehow. She has always been such a good friend to him, constantly giving and never getting a thing in return. Eleanor has always taken care of him, without so much as a kind word on his part. He'd even tried to kill her once upon a time - though he shudders to think of it now. She's the only thing in this world he has ever been able to count on. The way some people depend on drugs or music or religion to get them through the tragedy of their lives - he depends on Eleanor. Her presence makes his life make sense, the thought of eternity a little more bearable with her friendship. After all their history together - all the times she has let him crash on her sofa, the times when her letters were a lifeline, and he doesn't want to let her keep a _dog_?

Bloody hell.

"Oh, have it your way, bloody woman," he mutters with an angry sigh. "Keep the damn thing."

She whips around to face him, eyes wide in unmitigated happiness. "Really? Oh love, I promise I'll make sure 'e doesn't get on your nerves!" Letting out a squeak of delight and flinging her arms around him, she nearly knocks him off balance with her embrace. "Thank you," she murmurs into his chest. He sits awkwardly in her arms, knowing she has gotten her way yet again, but unable to be irritated about it. Pulling away slightly, Eleanor looks up at him, her smile brilliant with gratitude and triumph. He suddenly finds it difficult to breathe properly.

"Mum!" Toby calls, and Sweeney blinks once, as if coming out of a trance. "What are we gonna name 'im?"

Eleanor pulls away from Sweeney, still grinning, and joins Toby on the floor as they begin to toss name suggestions back and forth. When Sweeney ignores their attempts to include him in favor of lying back on the sofa with his blanket and the remote, they leave him alone, discussing it quietly amongst themselves. As he drifts off to sleep again, he hears Eleanor's soft giggle over the sound of Wayne Newton's rendition of Danke Schoen, and decides that maybe all the trouble he's going to have with this mutt will be worth it after all.

XxX

_In Which Carol Is A Bad Influence_

Staying with Carol and Tom is like living with teenagers who think it's cool to hang out with a twelve-year old boy. Toby never has as much fun as when he's with Tom and Carol. They're complete nutters - they stay up late watching sitcoms Mr. Todd hates, they eat junk food his mum says is bad for him, and they don't tell him when it's time to go to bed.

Carol sings show tunes at the top of her lungs while she makes dinner - or rather, looks through the phonebook for the right Chinese restaurant. Sometimes, she grabs Toby's hand in the middle of the sidewalk to spin him around like he's her dance partner. And the strange thing is, he doesn't find it at all embarrassing. The last time she'd done it, they'd bumped into a stockbroker on Wall Street and they'd laughed so hard they'd cried.

Tom makes s'mores sitting in front of the fireplace, roasting the marshmallows on pencils. He teaches Toby how to throw peanuts in the air and catch them in his mouth. When Carol isn't home, they sit in front of the television, feet propped up on the coffee table, and yell at the men playing football on the screen while drinking too much Mountain Dew and eating too much salted popcorn. Sometimes, they even let Louie drink a soda, and when Carol complains that the hound is more hyper than usual, Tom and Toby hide guilty grins in another mouthful of popcorn.

When Tom and Carol are at work, Toby spends his time raiding their refrigerator and helping himself to Tom's collection of Sports Illustrated magazines, or lounging about on the rooftop of their building with binoculars. At first, he'd been furious that his mum and Mr. Todd had left him behind to go on some bloody spring break trip to Atlantic City. Mum has always taken him with her wherever she went, until Mr. Todd showed up for his extended stay.

He doesn't like the idea of them being alone together in another city. He knows Mr. Todd wouldn't hurt his mum, even if he somehow could. Mr. Todd isn't who he used to be. That isn't what makes Toby uneasy. His mum's genuine, unfailing affection for Mr. Todd makes him uneasy. The way Mr. Todd looks at his mum sometimes, with a fondness that the professor himself doesn't even realize he has for her, makes Toby uneasy. Besides, going to Atlantic City would have been a ruddy good story to tell his mates at school.

He supposes his mum had been right, though. Atlantic City with Mr. Todd would hardly have been a good time for him. He's having much more fun here, with Carol and Tom. Every time they move, his mum always manages to befriend the best people. It's like she has a sixth sense for who would be the most fun to spend time with - the people who own pastry shops and can make giant cakes with a flick of their wrist, the people who have keys to a skating rink, the people who personally know David Bowie, the people who used to play professional poker or who get free movie viewings before anyone else. With Carol and Tom, his mum has picked out the craziest, most random and hilarious people in Manhattan. Toby can't imagine spending three days with anyone else.

When he wakes up on the last morning before his mum and Mr. Todd get back from their trip, he wanders into the kitchen to find Tom already at work for the day and Carol at the table, butter knife in hand as she coats a chocolate cake with rich-looking chocolate icing. She hums along to the radio over the sound of New York traffic through the open window, and when Toby drops down onto a seat across from her, she grins at him.

"Cake for breakfast?" He asks, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

Carol bites her lip guiltily. "Your mom is _so_ going to kill me. But yeah, cake for breakfast."

Toby nods his approval, picking up the jumbo bottle of colored sprinkles next to her elbow. "Brilliant."

"I thought so," she says with a satisfied sigh, licking chocolate from her fingers. "It's my personal belief that every day should begin with chocolate. There really is no better start to a morning." She takes the knife and cuts two sizeable pieces before grabbing two forks from the dishwasher. She doesn't bother to get plates, so they begin to eat directly from the cake plate, and Toby hasn't felt so irresponsible in years. "Your mom called this morning and said they're leaving in an hour and should be here around two."

Toby nods, swallowing a mouthful of cake – it tastes as rich as it looks. "They 'ave a good time?"

Carol snorts. "Your mom sounded hung over."

His stomach flips, and Toby tries not to think of all the horrible possibilities if Mr. Todd had let his mum drink tequila. It's the only liquor she can't hold—she tends to get rather silly and outrageous when she drinks it. Toby can only hope Mr. Todd had watched over her and been a gentleman. If he hadn't been, Toby might have to "accidentally" line Louie's dog bed with Mr. Todd's favorite leather coat.

Carol stabs at her slice of cake and says in a voice too light not to be noticeable, "So Tobes, since your mom is so tight-lipped about the dear Professor Todd...maybe you can tell me about him?"

Toby frowns, pausing with his fork still poised above his cake – in all his years, he's learned what this nonchalant voice means coming from women. It means he'd better be on his guard. "What do you want to know?"

An eager, hungry look in her blue eyes, Carol says, "How long have you known him?"

Toby smirks. _Since the 19th century_. "Since I was born, really."

Carol looks surprised. "So Sweeney knew you and your mom when your mom was still in England with your dad?"

Shrugging, Toby scoops up another bite of cake, shoveling it into his mouth. "I guess so. 'e was a friend of my dad's."

Confusion written all over her face, Carol stares at the tabletop, frowning and murmuring to herself, "How could she pick your dad over _Sweeney_?" She looks up with wide eyes. "Sorry, kid. No offense."

"S'alright," Toby mumbles around a mouthful, deciding to ham it up a little. If mum and Mr. Todd can go to Atlantic City, he can stay here and practice their backstory on an unsuspecting mortal. "I like Mr. Todd better than my dad too. Mr. Todd's always visitin', it seems. And my dad, well, the bloke ran out on us when I was a baby, y'know?"

"Your mom never talks about it," Carol says. "What's his name?"

"…Albert."

"And your mom never married him?"

Toby shakes his head, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Nope. Mum says she's glad she didn't though, cause she was too young to know what love really was." His mum is going to beat him with one of Louie's dog toys for this, but Toby can't seem to help himself. They change their story every few years and Toby has been everything from Eleanor's adoptive son to her nephew. In the earlier years, it was easier for him to be her nephew, or for them to tell everyone that Toby's father had died. Only recently has it been acceptable in society for Toby to be an illegitimate child. Sometimes, Toby thinks Eleanor had been such a strong supporter of feminism just so she could stop pretending to be a widow in mourning.

"So does Sweeney ever talk to your dad?" Carol asks. "I mean, you said he was your dad's friend. And now he's staying with you and your mom?"

Toby nods, knowing he'll have to explain all this to his mum when she gets back. He can't let Carol bombard her like he knows she will. "Never sat right with Mr. Todd, what dad did to mum. They don't speak anymore. An' Mr. Todd got real close to mum while she was with dad. They were friends, I guess."

"They never dated? Not once?" Carol asks incredulously, rolling her eyes when Toby shakes his head. "Well what about Sweeney? Was he ever married?"

Lucy. Toby doesn't want to have to tell Mr. Todd they'd talked about Lucy. And mum would have to see that look that's always on his face when anyone accidentally speaks of her. _Almost two hundred bloody years._ The man needs to get over it. "I don't think so," Toby says, and he puts another mouthful of cake in his mouth to keep himself from revealing anything else.

Carol glares at what's left of the cake, murmuring, "What the hell are they waiting for? They're perfect for each other." She leans closer to Toby across the table, eyeing him. "You live with them, Tobes. They ever act all lovey dovey? Are they hiding something?"

"I'm there all the time and I never see anythin'," Toby says, and inwardly cringes at the thought. If anything ever happens between them, he doesn't know what he'll do. It's been two hundred years, and he sees the way they look at each other. It's only a matter of time. When the day does come, he supposes he'll just have to throw a right proper tantrum about it. Or gouge out his eyes.

Blowing out a puff of air through her noise and crossing her arms, Carol huffs, "What a load of crap."

She's pouting, and it would be funny if Toby didn't have to face telling his mum and Mr. Todd what they'd discussed. It's a conversation he would rather avoid – in his mind he can see his mum muttering her annoyance under her breath and Mr. Todd scowling at him for not keeping his mouth shut.

Obviously realizing that Toby isn't going to give her the information she wants to hear, Carol tucks blonde hair behind her ears and says resignedly, "Well, I guess we should do something really crazy before your mom comes to get you. You wanna steal some gum? Oh hey, we can prank call Tom at work!"

Toby almost smiles.

XxX

_In Which It's All The Beatles' Fault_

Phone calls at work are rare.

Sometimes, when Sweeney gets home early and has to make dinner for Toby and himself, he calls to complain about her finicky son. And Toby usually calls five minutes later to complain about Sweeney's lousy cooking.

But it's only twelve-thirty and neither one of them should be home yet. When her cell phone rings immediately following an emergency heart surgery, Eleanor sinks down onto a chair in the waiting room with an exhausted sigh and pulls out her phone. It's a number she doesn't recognize and she frowns, answering it with a weary, " 'ello?"

"Dr. Lovett?"

"That's me."

"This is Principal Jennings calling about your son Toby - "

Her heart leaps into her throat. It suddenly doesn't matter that Toby is almost two hundred. It doesn't matter that he can take care of himself, that nothing can hurt him, that breaking a limb is the worst thing that can happen. "What 'appened?" She asks frantically. "Is 'e alright? Is 'e hurt? Did 'e - "

"He's fine," Jennings interrupts. "But you need to come down here."

The answer isn't exactly reassuring, and Eleanor snaps her phone shut with a scowl. She arrives at P.S. 117 in a rather foul mood – her confusion about the situation with Toby and her irritation over the argument with her cab driver concerning his undeserved tip, all working together to wear her patience thin.

Through the glass of the door to the principal's office, she can see Toby sitting in front of the desk, arms crossed, head down and frown on his face as he scuffs at the floor with the toe of his tennis shoe. Mr. Jennings, the principal, regards the boy with a bemused look, his arms folded in front of him on the desk. In the corner of the room, dressed in her usual flat shoes, khaki pants and cardigan, Toby's teacher, Mrs. Turlington, watches them both with disapproval.

When Eleanor opens the door and peers inside, Toby swivels around so quickly that he nearly knocks his chair off balance and blurts, " 'e deserved it, mum, talkin' the way 'e was! I'd do it again if I 'ad to!"

"Calm down this instant Toby!" Mrs. Turlington says sternly, uncrossing her arms and taking a step forward. "You will sit quietly while Principal Jennings speaks with your mother."

"But I – "

"That's enough," Principal Jennings sighs, massaging his temple wearily. "Be quiet, Toby."

Toby huffs and scowls at them all. Eleanor stands frozen in the middle of the room, gaping. "What the bloody hell is goin' on 'ere?" She asks, directing her gaze to Toby.

"We called you because Toby was involved in a brawl in the cafeteria this afternoon," Jennings answers for the boy, picking up his pen to tap it repetitively against the legal pad on his desk.

Gasping, Eleanor leaps forward and swats at Toby's head, forcing him to cringe away lest her hand make contact with his skull. "You did what? Toby! You know better than that!"

"But mum - " Toby begins to protest and she silences him with a glare.

"I'm terribly sorry about this," she says, looking at the other two adults. "Toby 'as never hit anyone in 'is whole life." And that's quite an accomplishment, considering his years. " 'e's always been so ruddy mature. More than me, actually."

"Well he wasn't mature today," Jennings says scornfully. "He gave another student a bloody nose. He's at the nurses station right now, waiting for his mother to pick him up."

Eleanor stares, dumfounded.

Toby has never been a violent boy, and the whole affair is utterly baffling. He won't even look at her now, arms crossed and glaring at the wall behind Principal Jennings. She's never been so furious with him – not even when he told people he was her sister's illegitimate son through an affair with a Duke when they lived in Cuba at the turn of the century, or when he stole weed from one of her hippie friends just because he was curious.

She'd almost think Toby incapable of violence if she didn't have the memory of him launching himself at Sweeney the first time he showed up at their door. Toby had landed a few punches before Sweeney wrestled him to the ground in the middle of their front yard. Eleanor could only be grateful it had been two in the morning and none of their neighbors had been awake to see it. Even so, giving a boy a bloody nose seems so far removed from Toby's naturally protective tendencies that she has a hard time believing it.

"Considering this is Toby's first offense," Mrs. Turlington continues. "We thought it might be more appropriate for you to decide the best punishment."

"But if anything like this ever happens again," Jennings says sourly. "We'll be forced to expel him. We have no tolerance for such violence."

"Of course," Eleanor says, grateful Toby won't have to worry about a mark on his permanent record. Not that it matters, come to think of it. In a few years, when they're forced to leave again, she'll just forge new records for him – spotless records. "Thank you for givin' 'im another chance. I promise it won't 'appen again. Will it?" She looks at Toby threateningly and he scowls.

"No," he mutters, kicking absently at the floor.

"Bloody right you are," she snaps, and then softens considerably at the dejected look on his face. Ignoring the other two in the room, Eleanor steps closer to him with a sigh and kneels in front of his chair. "Toby, love, what 'as gotten into you? It's not like you to strike someone." Toby glares at her, and she's so taken aback that she nearly totters backwards in her heels. She steadies herself by placing a hand on the arm of his chair and gives him a pleading look. "Talk to me, love. Please. Why did you hit that boy?"

Finally, Toby snaps. "Cause 'e watched your bleedin' youtube video, that's why! 'e wouldn't stop talkin' about you, sayin' stuff about you. Like you was a piece of meat or somethin'! I warned 'im to stop. Blighter wouldn't, so I punched 'im." He looks away from Eleanor's stricken face, and she can tell he's struggling to hold back tears. "I ain't sorry. 'e deserved it."

The room is utterly silent, and Eleanor hears Mrs. Turlington shift uncomfortably. She feels sick to her stomach, disgusted with herself. She hadn't thought her escapades in Atlantic City would be quite so far-reaching, and she hates that even Toby has to suffer because of her stupidity. What had she been thinking? She has been telling Toby for years that it's best if they don't draw attention to themselves - it's why Sweeney hadn't pursued his hockey career, why she never got into acting like she always wanted to, why she never sang anywhere outside a smokey nightclub. And what does she do the second day she's in Atlantic City? She stands on a bar, belting out a Beatles classic and flashing her thighs while people record her with the cameras in their cell phones.

Now, she can't go into work without someone raising a suggestive eyebrow, or hearing someone muttering the lyrics to Twist and Shout as she passes them. Sweeney's students will not stop pestering him about his tequila-loving friend and asking him for her number. And now Toby is being taunted by his classmates.

She _loathes_ herself.

And then it dawns on her. Toby had punched someone. For her. Her sweet, loving son had decked another boy for talking about her disrespectfully. She's almost ashamed of the pride that wells up in her chest, and the pleased tears that threaten to spill over. Violence is not something to condone. Even so, she can't help but reach out for his hand, squeezing it affectionately. Swallowing her smile, she says, "It's no excuse for 'ittin' someone, Toby. You need to learn to ignore people."

Toby's brown eyes dart up to meet hers defiantly. " 'e called you a drunken whore with great legs, mum. I ain't sorry I didn't ignore 'im – I only feel bad cause I just made 'im bleed." He frowns, as if disgusted with himself. "I was aimin' for breakin' 'is giant nose. Stupid blighter."

Mrs. Turlington gasps and Principal Jennings huffs in exasperation, but Eleanor cannot hide her grin anymore. She beams at her son and ruffles his head, blinking up at him through her tears. "When did you get to be so bloody amazin', eh?"

The tips of his ears turning pink, Toby shakes his head, biting his lip to smother a grin of his own. "Weren't nothin', mum. I wasn't about to let some bloke talk about you like that – even if you were stupid enough to drink tequila."

Eleanor snorts. "Quite a mouth on you, y'know."

"Live with you, don't I?" Toby counters.

"Dr. Lovett, you can't possibly condone such behavior," Mrs. Turlington interrupts, fuming. "He punched another student – that is completely unacceptable!"

Climbing to her feet, Eleanor turns to look at Toby's teacher and principal, raising an eyebrow. "I believe I 'ave the right to decide what's right for my son, and what isn't. 'e was protectin' another family member when 'e did what 'e did, and to me, that means I've done a better job raisin' 'im than I thought. Certainly a better job than whoever raised that li'tle bleeder at the nurses station." She meets their eyes defiantly. "In fact, to celebrate, we're goin' out for ice cream."

Mrs. Turlington gapes even as Toby pipes up with, "Ben and Jerry's?"

"Whatever you want, love."

"Well," sniffs Mrs. Turlington, and Eleanor arches an eyebrow at her tone. "I guess we know where Toby gets his complete disregard for rules and authority."

Eleanor smiles sweetly. "Got 'is right hook from me too."

The meeting ends shortly after that, frosty glares from principal and teacher the only goodbyes exchanged as Eleanor and Toby stroll from the school and hail a cab to take them for ice cream. They're just finishing up their desserts when they walk through the apartment door and find Sweeney lounging on the sofa, remote in hand and Louie at his feet. He looks as though he'd been about to fall asleep, and he frowns sleepily at the sight of their ice cream cones until Eleanor holds up a cup of ice cream. She heads to the kitchen, calling out, "It's a bit melty, but I'll stick it in the freezer. Eat it later."

Did he honestly think she would go to Ben and Jerry's and not pick up a few scoops of Chunky Monkey - his favorite? Honestly, it's like the man doesn't know her at all.

When she wanders back into the room, Sweeney sits up, making room for Eleanor to drop onto the sofa next to him. Toby sits on the floor, giving the rest of his cone to Louie, laughing at the way the hound licks it up eagerly, tail wagging. "Why are you so late getting home?" Sweeney grumbles.

"Oh," Eleanor says happily. "Toby was sent to the principal's office today."

Sweeney raises his eyebrows, glancing down at Toby. "Congratulations," he says dryly.

Swatting at him, Eleanor says, "I wasn't finished. Hush up, love."

"It sounded like you were finished," he mutters. "What did you expect me to think with such a dramatic pause?"

"Oh for 'eavens sake, stop bein' so bloody difficult," she huffs. "Shouldn't 'ave brought you any ice cream, frustratin' man."

"Well, no one asked you to, woman."

"I was _tryin'_ to be nice!"

As Louie finishes up the rest of the cone, Toby rolls his eyes at them. Fed up with their bickering and just wanting to get on with it, he shouts over their voices, "I punched a bloke at school today for callin' mum a whore."

Both adults turn to look at him, Sweeney staring incredulously and Eleanor looking a bit miffed that she hadn't been able to tell the story herself. Finally, still gaping at Toby, Sweeney says, "You did what?"

"There was a boy who watched the video of me on youtube," Eleanor sighs. " 'e started talkin' to Toby about...certain parts of my anatomy." She pauses, watching Sweeney grimace. "The lad wouldn't shut 'is pie 'ole, so Toby decked 'im."

"Is he expelled?" Sweeney asks. He purses his lips, and knowing him as well as she does, Eleanor can tell it's because he's struggling not to grin outright.

She shakes her head. "The principal said I could deal with 'im myself."

"So you took him out for ice cream?"

"Seemed appropriate for such an act of nobility," she shrugs.

"You're not going to actually punish him, are you?" Sweeney raises an eyebrow when Eleanor snorts.

"Course not! Never been so bloody proud of 'im in all my life." She glances at Toby with a smile, watching him stretch out on the floor and allow Louie to clamber onto him. When the hound begins to lick his face, Toby struggles to get away, laughing.

"Didn't think he had it in him," Sweeney murmurs, watching the scene with her from the sofa.

Eleanor slides her gaze from the spectacle on the floor to Sweeney's face, and as she watches him look at Toby, she sees something new in his eyes. Something she doesn't see often coming from a man like him, a man whose friendship is so hard to earn and even harder to maintain.

Respect.

She nearly rolls her eyes. Only Sweeney would admire someone for being violent. They're bloody overprotective morons, the both of them. But she can't imagine them any other way.


	2. Chapter 2

Passing Time

_In Which Kurtis Russell Is A Pervert_

It's almost adorable.

She'd gone out for coffee and bookstore browsing with Kurtis Russell, and Sweeney had acted as though she'd committed the ultimate betrayal. Honestly, he's getting to be just as bad as Toby - glaring at men who stare too long, pouting when she goes on a date. And it isn't as if she'd known it was a date. What right does he have to be jealous, anyway? It isn't as if he's bringing home roses and chocolates, positively begging her to let him court her.

Though they've managed to salvage their relationship and create their own odd, little truce, Eleanor still very vividly remembers the rush of joy as they danced in the bakehouse, the fluttering in her heart that he finally saw her instead of just looking through her. She remembers the flames licking her skin to ash, the hateful gleam in his eyes - remembers the nightmares even years later. Sweeney Todd wanting anything to do with wooing her is almost laughable. And she might have laughed, if a small part of her still didn't hurt so much.

However, he had been at least annoyed that she'd gone out with Kurtis, scowling at her and sulking like a child. But now, contentedly watching Rambo and satisfied in the knowledge that Eleanor has no intention of dating Kurtis Russell, Sweeney is perfectly docile. He's more bonkers now than he was two hundred years ago.

The apartment door groans over the deafening sound of machine guns, and she hears Toby call out, "Mum, I'm 'ome. But I've got homework so - "

"C'mere, love!" She shouts to be heard over the television, glaring at Sweeney until he sighs and points the remote at the tv, turning it down.

Toby wanders into the living room, heavy book bag hanging from one shoulder. "Can't watch tv tonight, mum. Or eat. Or breathe. Two essays and three pages of algebra to finish before school tomorrow." He scowls, as if he finds his workload most disagreeable, and runs a hand through his hair.

Eleanor laughs. "Toby, you 'ave to eat, love. 'Sides, you're such a bloody genius, it'll only take you 'alf an hour to get all that math done." She points to the most comfortable piece of furniture in the living room - a big, overstuffed chair that nearly swallows up whoever sits in it. " 'ave a seat. One hour in front of the tv, it's an order."

Toby gapes at her. "You're gonna make me watch tv?"

She nods firmly. "Do it or you're grounded."

Not only is the notion completely ridiculous, but she's never grounded him, and she isn't about to start now. Toby sighs and collapses onto the chair anyway, letting his book bag hit the floor. In her opinion, he acts entirely too much like an adult, and sometimes she feels like she has to threaten the boy just to get him to have fun. She'll never forget that time in the sixties when she threatened to take away his Bob Dylan records if he came back from playing with his friends before sundown. She has a feeling he spent most of that time sitting outside the local grocery store with a box of popsicles, but what truly mattered to her was that he'd been outside instead of sitting on the sofa with his nose buried in a book.

Grateful to have someone to talk to who isn't staring at Sylvester Stallone as if he's some bloody idol, Eleanor looks at Toby and asks, "'ow was your day, love?"

"Punch anyone else?" Sweeney asks dryly, his eyes still glued to the television.

Toby glares. "Not yet."

"Oi," Eleanor interrupts, tossing a pillow at Toby's head. "Play nice, boys."

"He started it," Toby grouses.

"Did not," Sweeney scowls and Eleanor rolls her eyes.

"Bloody 'ell, Sweeney," she sighs. "Act your age."

"If I were to act my age, I'd be dead," he says, raising his eyebrows at her.

She smiles sweetly. "Like I said, act your age."

Sweeney's glower is so intense that she almost feels the heat of his gaze on her face. "Toby," he says suddenly, a wicked grin on his lips. "Did your mother tell you about her date - "

"Sweeney!"

" - with Kurtis today?"

For a moment, no one speaks. Eleanor glares at Sweeney, but he only looks at her contentedly, obviously pleased with himself. Toby gawks at them both, mouth hanging open and brown eyes wide.

"Kurtis Russell?" He finally sputters. " 'ave you lost your bleedin' mind?"

Sweeney hides a smirk in a gulp of his beer.

Speaking lowly to him, Eleanor says, "You've 'ad it now. Louie's gettin' every leather shoe in your bloody closet."

Sweeney's grin only widens, and Toby looks the very picture of disgust - his mouth twisted, his nose scrunched up as though he's caught the scent of something offensive, and his brow knit. "You went out with Kurtis? Mum, what were you thinkin'?"

"I didn't know it was a date!" She protests for the hundredth time, throwing up her hands. If it were actually possible, she'd strangle Sweeney herself. He knew Toby would react this way. She considers taking back that old Shakespeare book she'd just given him, if only out of spite. " 'e invited me for coffee, I thought 'e meant as friends!"

"You shouldn't 'ave even done that!" Toby exclaims, distraught. " 'e's a bloody perv! I've seen the way 'e looks at you! Like you're one of Baskin Robbins thirty-one flavors."

"And who doesn't know going out for coffee is a date?" Sweeney asks scornfully, and for once Toby nods his agreement.

Eleanor scowls at them. "It's the 21st century, everybody goes for coffee!"

Toby shakes his head, kicking at his book bag on the floor. " 'e's some spoiled surfer with bad 'air who only wants you for your money!"

"Or certain parts of your anatomy," Sweeney offers, and she glares. He shrugs. "Lad's got a point."

"There's nothin' wrong with 'is hair," Eleanor says defensively. She feels the need to defend Kurtis, since he isn't here to stand up for himself. He really is a sweet boy, bless him.

Scoffing, Toby glowers at the television. "Yeah, if you like your men to look like girls."

"Oh, it's not that long!" She says, and it really isn't. They're both being ridiculous - Kurtis' blonde hair doesn't fall any farther than just below his ears, though he _is_ forever pushing it out of his eyes...

"It is," Sweeney argues, coming to Toby's defense. "Yesterday, his back was turned to me when I walked into class - thought I had a new female student."

Toby laughs, and Eleanor finds it infuriating that they can only get along when they're ganging up on her. "You shouldn't 'ave gone out with 'im, mum. 'E can't be trusted."

"What if he hadn't been able to control himself around you, Eleanor?" Sweeney asks, taking another drink from his beer bottle to conceal his amusement. He's enjoying her torment and that smirk is maddening.

It makes Eleanor want to mess with his mind.

"Well what if 'e 'adn't?" She asks lightly. "What if 'e just couldn't keep 'is 'ands off me and I've decided I'm goin' to see 'im again?"

Sweeney ignores Toby's cry of dismay and he speaks with so much assurance that Eleanor smiles. "You just told me he isn't your type."

She raises an eyebrow, challenging him. "I lied."

"You wouldn't," Sweeney glares back.

Eleanor rolls her eyes. "Yeah, lyin' is _so_ out of character for me, love."

Sweeney stares, eyes wide - first utterly bewildered that she'd even mentioned the flaw that lead to her death, and then because he's realized she's right. She watches as the horror dawns on his face. The thought of her dating his least favorite student has turned his complexion ashen. By contrast, Toby's face is so red with fury that she thinks he might explode all over the living room. Satisfied with her work, Eleanor sighs and reaches out lazily for the beer bottle hanging loosely in Sweeney's hand.

"You mind?" She asks, taking a sip when Sweeney doesn't answer. Leaning back against the sofa cushions, she lets the stunned silence settle over the apartment as she turns her attention to Sylvester Stallone.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sweeney glowering at the floor, his attention no longer on the movie - one of his favorites. Toby's fists are clenched in his lap, his face twisted in his overprotective rage. Serves them right, telling her what she can and cannot do. The nerve of them both - like she lives with two bloody wardens.

Eventually, she'll tell them she has no intention of dating Kurtis Russell. He's far too young for her, and she really can't say she'd fallen for his overwhelming penchant for saying 'dude'. The fact that they have the audacity to believe an immature college boy is exactly her type is even more exasperating. What are they thinking with?

During a lull in action on the television, when all is quiet for just a moment, Eleanor hears Sweeney's teeth grinding together and she smiles.

She will tell them. Some time tonight.

But for now, she's having too much fun.

XxX

_In Which No One Respects Their Elders_

They look like pouting juveniles. Sitting on the uncomfortable metal chairs lining the empty hallway, Sweeney and Toby glare at the floor, arms crossed over their chests in petulance. Honestly, you'd think she was taking them in for one of those dreaded _complete_ physicals, the way they're glowering.

She sighs, tapping one high-heeled shoe against the floor and putting a hand on her hip. "Stop actin' like such children. It'll be fifteen minutes, tops. Then we can grab dinner and go back 'ome. Promise."

"I still don't see why I even have to be here," Sweeney snaps. "I haven't been to school in over two hundred years."

"Well what about me," Toby counters with a scowl, eager to outdo the older man in their misery. "I've been goin' to school for almost two 'undred years an' I still 'aven't graduated or gone to college. An' I never will!"

Sweeney smirks. "Well perhaps if you studied..."

Toby's face gets so red that Eleanor is certain he's about to launch himself at the professor and throw a few punches. She can only imagine the spectacle of Sweeney wrestling the boy to the ground, pinning him and gloating about his superior strength while every teacher in the building looks on in horror. They'll lock her and Sweeney away for child abuse. She's already watched Toby try to beat up Sweeney once, and she can't say she has any desire to see it again. "Alright now," she scolds hastily. "Both of you stop it. Try and be'ave like civilized people while I'm gone."

"'e started it," Toby grumbles, but he closes his mouth at her glare. "Yes, mum."

Eleanor turns her eyes on Sweeney, who nods grudgingly and slouches further down in his seat like a scolded little boy. She sighs. Between the two of them, she sometimes feels like an overworked mother. Fluffing her curls once and adjusting the neckline of her shirt, she steps up to the classroom door and knocks before pulling it open.

Sitting behind her desk, Mrs. Turlington smiles sheepishly at the sight of Eleanor and waves her inside. "Dr. Lovett, how...nice to see you again."

Thinking of their last meeting in the principal's office, Eleanor blushes. Thankfully, Toby hasn't gotten into any more fistfights. Since that last boy returned to school with a crooked nose, it acted as a sort of warning for anyone else who dared mention her escapades to him. Now, here only for the mandatory Parent-Teacher Conference that every child dreads, Eleanor feels decidedly more at ease. " 'ello Mrs. Turlington," she greets with a smile, closing the door behind her and taking a seat in front of the woman's desk. "You're well, I hope."

Mrs. Turlington nods and then purses her lips. "Very well, thank you. And how are things at home?"

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, Eleanor says, "Smashing. Why do you ask?"

Mrs. Turlington glances at her notes on the desk. "Toby doesn't seem to be paying attention in class. He's always distracted - doodling, looking out the window. It concerns me. I was wondering if there were any problems at home that might be contributing to his listlessness."

The only problem is that Toby knows the material backwards and forwards. "Things at 'ome are just fine. And Toby is perfectly capable of comin' to me with any problems 'e 'as. We're very close."

"I've noticed you two seem to get along better than most single parents and their children," the woman agrees, frowning in thought. "I'm just concerned for Toby. He...he doesn't act like most children. I've been teaching for years and I've never seen any other child quite like him. He barely pays attention and yet he answers every question correctly. All of his classmates seem to like him very much, and yet he carries on as though he doesn't need a friend in the world. It's very curious."

"Toby 'as always been very mature for his age," Eleanor says, glancing at her watch.

Sensing her impatience, Mrs. Turlington glances at her notes. "I'm also concerned Toby is spending too much time on Facebook. He - "

"The 'ole bleedin' country spends too much time on Facebook," Eleanor interrupts with a raised eyebrow. "Top surgeon at the 'ospital 'as a Facebook. On it every bleedin' break 'e 'as."

"Toby tells me you have a guest staying with you," Mrs. Turlington continues, unfazed. "Do you think this man might have something to do with Toby's distraction? Perhaps you should talk to him. He may be feeling threatened by your new boyfriend - "

" 'e's not my boyfriend," Eleanor interrupts again, her cheeks flushing. "Sweeney is an old friend who's stayin' with us for a while. Toby's known 'im since 'e was a baby." She sighs and begins to stand. "It seems Toby's grades are in order and 'e's behavin' 'imself, so if there's nothin' else you need to discuss besides my personal life, I'll be goin'. Thanks for the chat, dear. Always nice to see you."

She hurries from the room with as much dignity as hurrying can allow, shutting the door before Mrs. Turlington can utter anything to stop her. In the hallway, Toby and Sweeney are still sitting, both scowling at the floor and pointedly ignoring one another. "Alright," she says, and they both jump to their feet at the sight of her. "Let's blow this popsicle stand, eh?"

Toby moves to her side immediately, smiling half-heartedly at her, but Sweeney lopes along behind them, frowning at children they pass in the hallways, like a crotchety old man disgusted with the kids of today. Eleanor tries not to find it endearing as they make their way outside and to the curb.

"What'd she say, mum?" Toby asks anxiously. "Whatever it was, I bet it ain't true."

"Oh, so you're not a ruddy genius?" Eleanor asks teasingly. "I'll 'ave to tell 'er she made a mistake next time I see 'er."

Toby frowns and whines, "Mum, come on. What'd she _really_ say?"

"Toby, love," she sighs. "I know you're bored but can you at least _try_ to act like you're payin' attention?"

"But it's so easy," he complains. "I know this stuff like the back of my bloody 'and!"

Eleanor huffs her exasperation, holding out a hand to hail a cab. " 'aven't you ever 'eard the phrase 'learn as if you're goin' to live forever'? Well you can take that literally, you li'tle brat." She cuffs him on the head, smiling gently as a taxi pulls up to the curb.

They climb inside, and Sweeney follows suit, shutting the door behind them. As the cab merges with Manhattan traffic, he stares out the window and says incredulously, "A child stuck her tongue out at me. She stared. I stared. Then she stuck her tongue out at me."

Eleanor snorts. "You're bloody scary, love. Stop glarin' at 'em like they're demons and maybe they won't feel the need to fight back."

"I never would have done that when I was a child," Sweeney argues, turning to look at her. "We had respect for our elders."

She shrugs. "Things are different today, grandfather. No one even _says_ 'elders' anymore."

"Unless they're talkin' about a tribe in Africa or somethin'," Toby chimes in. Eleanor laughs, and they look at Sweeney with huge grins on their faces, amused by his supposedly ancient vocabulary.

Sweeney turns to the window again with a scowl, muttering darkly, "World has gone to pot."

XxX

_In Which Summer Means Bonding_

When Sweeney Todd imagined his impending summer vacation, he thought of sleeping until noon, lounging on the sofa and watching whatever he wanted and eating an entirely unhealthy array of food. He even thought of browsing through Eleanor's music collection and listening to whatever he liked without having to hear Eleanor humming along in the background. He did not imagine his two companions for the summer being a basset hound and a perpetually twelve-year-old boy.

Granted, he will get a reprieve at the end of August, when Toby heads off to some sort of summer camp in Virginia for two weeks. Eleanor had insisted on it and has every year for nearly ten years, saying that Toby needs the extra time outdoors and socializing, since the boy much prefers to be inside, playing video games and reading books in Russian. Toby, it seems, is even more full of surprises than his mother.

At first, Sweeney tries his best to ignore the boy and dog, going about his summer plans as if they weren't there. For the most part, Toby keeps to himself – locked up in his room blasting some band called Linkin Park and taking phone calls from the apparently vast array of girls calling the apartment for him. For a while, it seems like they'll get through the summer without having to speak to each other much.

All of this changes, however, when Sweeney – as embarrassed as he is by the admission – becomes addicted to the Gilmore Girls after a marathon airs on television. He camps out on the sofa in front of the television for the entire day and it isn't until the very last episode that he sees Toby. The boy wanders into the room, still dressed in his pajamas at five in the evening, and raises an eyebrow at the television.

Sweeney glares at him, daring him to say one word. Toby shrugs and grabs the half empty bowl of popcorn from the coffee table, plopping down on the sofa next to him. He nods towards the tv, "Lauren Graham is bloody good-looking."

Frowning between Toby and the television, Sweeney says dryly, "Isn't she a little old for you?"

Toby nearly chokes on his popcorn. "You're kiddin' me, right?"

"Touche`," Sweeney murmurs, turning back to the show.

For the next hour, they sit together in near silence – except for Toby's whistle whenever Lauren Graham wears a skirt or tight jeans – watching the Gilmore Girls finale. When the final credits roll and Rory isn't with Logan, and Lorelai barely had time to reconcile with Luke, Sweeney grumbles darkly about television these days and how no one makes an effort anymore. When he starts in on how television used to be in the old days, Toby sighs and looks at him in exasperation.

"If you 'ated the endin' so much, why don't you just read another one?" He asks, tossing back the rest of his Mountain Dew and wiping salty hands on his ratty t-shirt.

Brow furrowed, Sweeney stares. "What?"

Toby regards him with a look of pity one usually reserves for the caged animal at the zoo being poked with sticks. "'Aven't you ever 'eard of fanfiction?"

Fifteen minutes later, Sweeney is in Toby's rather messy bedroom, standing over his shoulder and peering at his laptop screen. "People actually write this sort of thing? Don't they get enough tv as it is?"

Toby shrugs. "S'not just stories about tv, Mr. Todd. People write about movies, comics, plays, video games, books - "

"Books?" Sweeney arches an eyebrow, staring intently at the laptop screen.

Toby turns to look at him, brow furrowed. "Yeah…"

Sweeney licks his lips, hesitating. "Do…do they have Harry Potter fanfiction?"

Toby grins hugely. "One of the most popular fandoms, Mr. T." He turns back to the computer, clicking and typing away. "What pairing do you want? I'm a Draco and Hermione fan, myself."

"Hermione with Draco?" Sweeney scoffs. "You've obviously watched A Very Potter Musical one too many times. They loathe each other – and she's meant for Weasley, anyway. If anyone should be with Draco, it's that Parkinson girl."

Toby splutters indignantly. "Pansy? She's a bloody snob!"

"Exactly," Sweeney sniffs. "They're perfect for each other."

XxX

Two days later, Sweeney and Toby are sitting in front of the television again, _The Empire Strikes Back_ playing loudly. In an unusual moment of truce, they had decided to have a Star Wars marathon, planning to at least make it through _The Phantom Menace_ before Eleanor returns from the hospital. Sweeney isn't sure why he and Toby are getting along so well, but he supposes it has something to do with making the best of their situation. They're stuck with each other until Toby goes to camp, whether they like it or not. Granted, they're not exactly forming a lifelong friendship, but Sweeney tries not to be too sarcastic with the boy, and Toby tries not to get on his nerves. It's a grudging truce, only lasting until school begins again, but they're not complaining.

In preparation for their marathon of epic proportions, Sweeney and Toby had gone grocery shopping together. They'd loaded a shopping cart with cases of Mountain Dew, five bags of potato chips, three packages of Oreo cookies, popsicles, Red Vines, popcorn and a rotisserie chicken. They'd even managed to make it through the store with only one small disagreement over whether five bags of potato chips was too much – which, of course, it wasn't. All in all, it had been a successful venture.

For the most part, Sweeney watches the movie and Toby interrupts to comment, ask questions or just praise the brilliance of Yoda. All in all, it feels very much like watching a movie with Eleanor, and Sweeney wonders if he'll ever find someone who will just watch the movie, and not feel the need to talk through it.

"_Try not! _Do_, or do not, there is no try."_

Toby sighs, looking very much like an enamored suitor watching his beloved from afar. "Yoda 'as to be the most wicked old man ever. Why can't I 'ave a mentor like 'im?"

"Because you're not Luke Skywalker, and you bought your lightsaber at Toys 'R' Us," is Sweeney's immediate exasperated reply, and Toby shrugs.

The boy doesn't speak again until Vader freezes Han Solo in a carbonite freezing chamber. "Can you imagine bein' in suspended animation?" he asks around an orange popsicle, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Sweeney raises an eyebrow. "Strangely, yes."

Toby rolls his eyes, propping his socked feet up on the coffee table. "You know what I mean!" He frowns. "What do you think it's like? Would you _know_ you were in suspended animation or would it just be like a coma, or a real long nap?"

"I doubt you're aware of it, if that's what you mean," Sweeney says, taking a swig from his beer and setting it back on the coaster – Eleanor will cause him bodily harm if he leaves another ring on her coffee table.

Toby eyes the bottle with an expression similar to longing. "Miss that stuff, I do," he sighs.

Sweeney had forgotten Toby's fondness for the drink, but thinking back, he definitely remembers finding Toby in the parlor on Fleet Street, passed out with a bottle of gin clutched to his chest. The way things were then sometimes makes Sweeney wonder how anyone survived before the 90's. "When did you quit?"

"Mum made me," Toby frowns, thinking. "Just before the Titanic, I think. I remember 'er tryin' to keep me from sneakin' a drink from one of the blokes in third class." He laughs, tossing a throw pillow into the air and catching it. "Mum says if child services wouldn't 'ave taken me away for it, she would 'ave sent me to rehab years ago."

Sweeney smirks. The image of Toby in group therapy, talking about his one hundred year old habit with a plethora of alcoholics and horrified counselors is as disturbing as it is amusing. Feeling rather generous, he offers the bottle to Toby. "_One_ sip. If your mother finds out, I'm telling her you broke into my stash."

Toby stares at him for a moment before a grin spreads across his face – so wide and mischievous that it's almost frightening – and he takes the bottle from Sweeney's hand. His sip is small, but eager and he hands the bottle back without a fuss. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he says, "You're not so bad, Mr. T."

Sweeney scowls. "Repeat that to anyone and I'll tell Eleanor I saw you stealing a pack of her cigarettes."

Toby's eyes widen before he settles on a choked laugh. "Your secret's safe with me, sir."

They eye each other for a moment, sizing the other up before they both settle back into the sofa cushions, intent on the movie once again.

When Eleanor comes home two hours later, the Star Wars DVD's are scattered across the living room floor, and popcorn and soda cans litter the coffee table. Louie has his head stuffed into an empty bag of Red Vines, and Sweeney is reclining on the sofa, attempting to balance Toby's lightsaber on one finger. Toby is standing on an armchair in boxers and socks, rasping, "Todd…I am your father."

Shutting her gaping mouth and shaking her head, Eleanor wonders if perhaps she liked it better when they were glaring daggers at each other. She sighs, trudging past them to the kitchen and muttering, "No more Mountain Dew, that's for bloody sure."

XxX

The next week is spent playing cards and chess, though Toby and Mr. Todd tend to take the games to extremes with their unhealthy thirst for competition. Toby usually wins at chess, but Mr. Todd has a much better poker face, so in the end, they're evenly matched.

They're recreational activities aren't always so organized, unfortunately. On Wednesday, much to Mr. Todd's annoyance, Toby spends an hour creating Sweeney's Facebook account and accepting friend requests from legions of Sweeney's students and colleagues. Mr. Todd insists he'll never get on his account and that Facebook is an utter waste of time for those too unintelligent to pick up a book, but when Kurtis Russell sends a request, Mr. Todd's grin is an unholy sight. Toby thinks maybe they received a little too much enjoyment out of clicking the 'deny' button, and if mum ever finds out, they're in for it. However, Mr. Todd stops talking about Facebook being entertainment for the illiterate, so Toby decides it was worth it.

On Thursday, they make a huge tower entirely out of Twinkies on the kitchen table using toothpicks and Elmer's Glue. When mum comes home, she trips over the empty Twinkie boxes stacked near the refrigerator. Mr. Todd had tried to explain that it was only a replica of an Egyptian pyramid and therefore educational, but mum had only glared at him and picked up a leftover Twinkie next to the tower, taking a vicious bite.

When mum comes home on Friday to marshmallows sticking to the kitchen ceiling, she decides she's had enough. Despite Toby's protests that it had been an experiment in gravity, she starts dragging them out to do things when she gets home from work. This is why Toby finds himself sitting next to his mum in matching black baseball caps on Saturday afternoon at Yankee Stadium.

Mr. Todd had refused to put on a baseball hat, and sitting on the other side of mum, he looks like he would rather be anywhere else. For some reason, he's glowering at the man sitting in front of him as though if he concentrates hard enough, the man might combust right in front of his eyes. Toby doubts it, but he can appreciate a sincere effort when he sees one.

When mum yells something vaguely insulting to the pitcher on the mound, the man in front of Mr. Todd laughs and turns around to look at her, and they begin a conversation full of smiles and shy looks. After that, Toby joins Mr. Todd in his effort. Two is better than one, after all.

When Mr. Todd takes mum's hand after the game is over, and begins tugging her away, Toby doesn't bother to glare at him, saving all his ire for the man who had made Mr. Todd want to be affectionate.

Just as Toby is scampering after them, the man calls after him. "Hey, kid!"

Toby turns, scowling.

The man holds out a piece of paper. "Will you give this to your mom for me?"

Toby contemplates turning around and walking away, but curiosity gets the better of him. He reaches out and takes the paper, keeping his glower firmly in place. Decent men do not flirt with women at baseball games, and Toby'll be damned if his mother goes out with an indecent man.

Marching off to find his mum and Mr. Todd, he unfolds the piece of paper to find the words 'Luke O'Brien' followed by a phone number scribbled hastily. Toby doesn't hesitate to crumple it in his fist and toss it into the nearest trashcan.

It probably wouldn't have worked out between them, anyway.

XxX

The night before Toby leaves for camp, there is a blackout that leaves all of New York City without power for two hours. Toby isn't the least bit surprised when his mum tosses him a flashlight and asks with a grin, "Flashlight Hide and Seek?" What does surprise him is the fact that Mr. Todd joins in and is in fact, rather good at it.

Toby is hiding with Louie underneath the dining room table, hoping to avoid Mr. Todd's surprise tackle when he hears a thump, followed by a shriek of laughter and his mum saying, "Sweeney, that's not fair! You cheated!"

"How did I cheat? By spotting you?"

"Yes!"

Toby rolls his eyes. From the sound of that thud, Mr. Todd had tackled his mum on the stairs to the loft. Mum never could stay still for long during Flashlight Hide and Seek. Despite her words, she doesn't sound too fussed about being tackled and Toby finds this disconcerting.

He's been watching them this summer, and they seem to have grown closer without him having noticed until it was too late to do anything about it. They smile at each other an awful lot – outright grins sometimes, but more often, Mr. Todd smiles at mum when she isn't even looking. Mum will smile just at the mention of Mr. Todd's ruddy name.

There's a lot of touching, too. Little brushes of their hands, mum ruffling Mr. Todd's hair, Mr. Todd putting a hand on the small of mum's back. Sometimes, they sit on the sofa and mum will put her head on Mr. Todd's shoulder and not move for ages.

And even if they're not smiling or touching, they're always _looking_. It's like they're opposite magnets, constantly drawn toward the other if they're too close.

All of this is very worrying to Toby. Mr. Todd may be around for now – the picture of stability with his fancy PhD and teaching position at New York University, but Toby knows his track record. He always leaves.

And when he leaves, mum tries to pretend it doesn't affect her, that she's fine and who needs another man around the house anyway? But Toby knows her better than that. That pragmatic, cheery smile and those light words full of laughter are an act, and he sees right through them.

Before this year, it wouldn't have been such a big deal because mum always knew not to get attached. She always knew she could wake up one morning and find the couch made up and his suitcase gone. But now, Mr. Todd has been staying with them for months. It looks, for all intents and purposes, as if he plans on staying for quite a while. So if he leaves now, like Toby knows he eventually will, mum will be heartbroken.

Toby won't let that man hurt her again. He'd made the mistake of trusting him once – it wouldn't happen twice. In any case, this substantial pile of evidence makes him reluctant to pack up and leave them alone for two weeks. Without his supervision, anything could happen.

The sound of footsteps brings Toby out of his reverie, and he listens as someone tiptoes into the dining room and begins to look around. Still lying under the table, Toby frowns. What are the odds of something happening between his mum and Mr. Todd the moment he leaves town?

Surely Fate's sense of humor isn't that cruel?

Toby snorts – and then realizes his mistake too late.

"Aha!"

A beam of light shines directly into his face and he squints. "Bloody 'ell!"

Mum laughs. "Gotcha, love."

Grumbling to himself, Toby climbs out from under the table, dragging Louie by the collar. "Only cause I made a noise."

Mum shakes her head. "I would 'ave found you eventually, smarty-pants."

"Can I go to bed now, or is there anything else you'd like to play, Eleanor?" Mr. Todd wanders into the room with an expression of wry amusement, flashlight hanging at his side. The light shines into Louie's eyes and he lets out a whine, wandering over to the professor and pawing at his pant leg. Mr. Todd scowls at him, but doesn't try to move. Toby thinks maybe the dog is growing on him.

Mum beams at Mr. Todd and puts her flashlight under her chin for an eerie effect. "Want to tell ghost stories?"

Mr. Todd rolls his eyes. "You _are_ a ghost story, pet."

As his mum squawks in protest and smacks Mr. Todd in the arm with her flashlight, Toby sighs. If things continue this way, he'll be lucky if they haven't made it to third base by the time he gets back.

Toby grimaces – he'll never think of baseball the same way again.

* * *

A/N – I know absolutely nothing about Star Wars, so if there are any mistakes, I'm sorry. Haha I did a little research but it's such a vast universe. Hopefully you all enjoyed it, regardless. Thanks so much for your reviews of the first chapter, I'm so glad you all like this idea. Just remember, this will not be a huge, long, epic thing like Passing Strange was. This is just a story of instances where Toby might have made things different, or provided a funny moment I wanted to write. I'm not completely re-doing Passing Strange. Anyway, review and get a cookie! Also, has anyone watched the video Princesstale made for Passing Strange? If not, you absolutely MUST because it's beautiful and brilliant and all kinds of other flattering adjectives. It's called The Space Between, so go watch!

Also, thanks to Robynne, who did not offer any assistance, whatsoever.

Mariana – Thanks so much for your review; I hope you enjoy the update!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Hiiii. -waves- Haven't forgotten about me, have you? Confession time: this chapter is not new. I found it lying around on my hard drive and I felt really bad for not sharing it. It's not a complete chapter but it doesn't end on a cliffhanger or anything so I thought you all might like to read it. And I have no idea when I will be updating. But I love you all!

* * *

Passing Time

_In Which Eleanor Lovett is Nervous and Sweeney Todd Apologizes_

The massive windows at the airport are usually teeming with people straining to get a glimpse of loved ones arriving or an ascending plane, but today, no one dares get too close. Pacing anxiously in front of the windows, muttering to herself, Eleanor knows she must be attracting some strange looks, but she can't bring herself to care what anyone else thinks just now.

A low murmur in the crowd jars her from her silent distress, and she glances up just in time to see a small plane make its landing on the runway. Biting at her nails, she makes a small, miserable sound in the back of her throat and turns away.

Toby is home.

Normally, Eleanor would have been ecstatic to have her son home from camp – ready to pounce on him the minute she saw him and embarrass him with copious amounts of public affection. Today, however, is different.

Today, she has to tell Toby that she's dating Sweeney Todd.

She hadn't meant for it to happen. Despite Toby's delusions to the contrary, she _is_ aware of Sweeney's track record. She knows the odds of him leaving are far more likely than him sticking around and playing house with her. In spite of her misgivings, it had happened. In a way, it felt very much like Fate, and Eleanor had been helpless to stop it.

It had started out innocently enough. Sweeney's students had drawn him into a discussion about the new movie detailing the murders of a demon barber and they'd decided to watch it for themselves to see how much of it was accurate. Sweeney had grumbled the whole time about how if Toby had kept his mouth shut, they wouldn't have to worry about urban legends.

Before she could get to Toby after the incident in the bakehouse all those years ago, the boy had run to the coppers, absolutely terrified. Eleanor had managed to slip in and steal him away in all of the ruckus provided by the gruesome crime scene. Toby had been too shocked at her reappearance to protest. They'd run away together to wait for the scandal to die down, but it had taken almost a year for Toby to truly trust her again.

For the most part, Eleanor had soldiered through the movie valiantly – no tears, no outbursts. She had her best poker face in place. Until the moment came when Toby found out what she and Sweeney were up to. She'd watched herself lock him up in the bakehouse – trapped in the dark with the god-awful stench and decaying body parts – and had been unable to endure a moment more.

Disgusted with herself, she'd jumped from the sofa and hurried to the study before Sweeney could see the tears in her eyes. It was too much to think about what she'd been willing to do for the love of a man who never even saw her. Now, she doesn't know what she would do without that child's presence in her life. She can't imagine how lonely the countless years would have been if she didn't have Toby.

Of course, Sweeney had seen the look on her face and followed her to the study, standing at the window with her while she smoked two cigarettes. He'd listened to her berate herself on what an idiot she had been, how selfish and cruel, and then calmly told her to 'shut her bloody trap'. And then he'd kissed her.

Despite herself, Eleanor can't help but smile at the memory. It's been five days since then, and she hasn't been this happy in years. Sweeney Todd is incredibly frustrating, a complete child and utterly exasperating.

She fancies him something awful.

Unfortunately, Toby has never been shy about expressing his contempt for the man. Eleanor is hoping their brief truce during the summer will have a positive effect on how he views the news of their newfound coupledom.

With this optimistic thought in mind, Eleanor meets her son at the gate, grinning when he walks toward her, shouldering a heavy duffel bag and wearing a tired grin. "Hello, my love," she says, enveloping him in a hug the moment he reaches her and dropping a kiss into his hair.

Toby drops his bag and returns the embrace, his indulgent "Missed you too, mum" muffled in the fabric of her shirt.

Pulling back, she pats affectionately at his cheek, unable to keep her smile in check. "You 'ave no idea 'ow much I've missed you, young man. I 'ad no one to share the Thai takeout with, no one to tell Sweeney when to stuff it, and no one to tell me when to turn off the bloody record player and go to bed! I 'ope you 'ad fun because you're never leavin' me again."

Toby laughs, picking up his bag from the floor. "You say that every year, mum."

Slinging an arm around his shoulders as they begin the long walk through the airport to the parking lot, Eleanor says, "Well this year I mean it." She really has missed the little bugger, and she finds herself glancing at him every few seconds, beaming at the sight of him. Ruffling his hair as they walk out the doors to the busy curb, she asks eagerly, "So, did you 'ave fun? Do anythin' dangerous and immature?"

Toby shakes his head, flagging down a taxi. "Not really."

Frowning, Eleanor takes his bag and stuffs it into the trunk. "Well why the bloody 'ell not?"

He shrugs, smiling a little at her disappointed expression. "I'm too old for that stuff."

Huffing in disbelief, Eleanor shoves the boy into the back of the cab, reciting their destination to the cabbie before turning to him with a sigh. "Toby, my love, let me make one thing very clear to you. You are never too old to put a sleeping person's 'and in water so they'll wet themselves in the middle of the night."

Toby snorts. "I'll 'ave to put that on the mental list of life lessons you've taught me – right next to 'always wear clean underwear' and 'if you're goin' to do it, don't get caught.'"

Pouting a little, Eleanor pulls her sunglasses over her eyes and says, "Well, at least you remembered the clean underwear part."

Eleanor is stalling shamelessly and unafraid to admit it. Toby needs to be told about Sweeney before they reach the apartment, but she isn't sure how to bring it up. The lad will surely have some sort of meltdown and say something dreadfully incriminating while their cab driver is listening. The last thing they need is to try to explain what Toby means by 'immortality' to a nosey cabbie.

Trembling a little, Eleanor reaches into her handbag and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, shaking one out hurriedly. Rolling down the car window, she lights it and takes a long drag, closing her eyes and sighing with gratitude. Nicotine is a wonderful, glorious thing. She revels in its delightful relaxation effect for a blissful moment, savoring the sensation. Blowing a puff of smoke out the window, she opens her eyes and finds Toby eyeing her solemnly.

"What's wrong?"

She raises an eyebrow. "What makes you think somethin's wrong?"

"You're smokin'," he points out.

"I always smoke."

"Not like that."

"Alright, enlighten me, Sherlock. 'Ow am I smokin' any different than usual?"

Toby looks away, staring out his own window with a frown. "Like you'd rather close your eyes and lose yourself in some bloody nicotine than talk to me. Only do that when there's somethin' you don't want to face."

Stunned, Eleanor cannot formulate a response for several long minutes. Tears pricking her eyes and cigarette poised between her fingers, she stares at her son and wonders if she's a terrible mother who deserves to rot, or if Toby is just too ruddy smart for his own britches. It's times like this that she feels like the child in their relationship, and it never ceases to make her feel like the scum of the earth.

"Touche`, love." Clearing her throat, she turns and taps her cigarette, watching the ashes fall from the car window to the pavement below. "There's somethin' I need to tell you and I don't know 'ow you'll take it."

Toby turns to look at her, brow furrowed. "Just say it, mum. It can't be _that_ bad."

Refusing to give in to the urge to take another puff before she delivers the news, Eleanor steels herself for the inevitable explosion. "Sweeney and I 'ave started datin', love."

Toby's expression darkens even as his face grows red and flushed. He opens his mouth in what will no doubt be a shouted tirade on her irresponsibility and Sweeney's violent past, but then he glances to the front seat, where the cabbie is muttering under his breath about traffic, and promptly closes his mouth again. Clearly struggling to maintain his silence, he sends Eleanor a glare so frosty it could rival Sweeney's, and turns to glower out the window.

Letting out a sigh that doesn't even begin to convey her wretchedness, Eleanor sinks back into the seat and takes another drag from her cigarette.

XxX

Sweeney has commandeered the dining room table by the time Eleanor arrives home with Toby – his students' papers spread out all over the surface and his laptop open in front of him. Just as he reaches up to grab the pen poised behind his ear, the apartment door swings open and crashes into the wall with a deafening thud.

"Toby, love, wait!"

"I go away for two bloody weeks and when I get back you two are 'avin' it off?! What the bloody 'ell am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know 'ow you can be surprised! I'm almost two hundred years old – if I was with anyone else but 'im it'd be pedophilia!"

Startled, Sweeney hurries from the dining room, student essay still in hand, just in time to see Toby stomp down the hall, and hear the thunderous crash as his bedroom door slams shut. Shoulders slouched in defeat, Eleanor turns to look at him, her eyes pained, hair mussed and a cigarette hanging from her mouth. As much as Sweeney adores her, he has to admit she looks like merry hell.

"So it went well?" He asks, just as Toby's stereo starts up and some horrible racket with a bad backbeat blasts through the apartment.

Eleanor winces. "Smashing."

Tilting his head, Sweeney listens to the music for a moment. The lead singer sounds a bit like a thug – which is probably the point. Someone needs to introduce that boy to the Sex Pistols. Dropping into an armchair, Sweeney reaches out a hand in invitation and Eleanor takes it willingly, climbing into his lap. He pulls her cigarette from her mouth and puts it out on Kurtis Russell's latest rubbish essay before tossing both of them onto the coffee table.

"Oi, I needed that!"

"No, you need to talk to your son."

Eleanor shakes her head and buries her face in his neck. "I can't – 'e hates me."

Snorting, Sweeney winds an arm around her waist. "If he hates anyone, it's me."

"There's an idea," she says, lifting her head and looking at him with hopeful eyes.

"What?" He asks warily.

Eleanor smiles. "You could talk to 'im for me."

Sweeney promptly shoves her from his lap, smirking a little at her yelp. "Absolutely not."

Sprawled on the floor in front of him, Eleanor still manages to look formidable, fingers tapping against the carpet and glare firmly in place. "And why not? You're the one 'e hates so bloody much – you should be in there tryin' to make amends!"

"_I_ should make amends?" Sweeney stares at her incredulously. "In case you've forgotten, pet, that boy slit my neck!"

"Yes, and you shoved me into an oven to be burned alive," she counters archly, pulling herself into a sitting position. "I forgave you for that, love. Can't you forgive Toby?"

"No."

"That's 'ardly fair!"

"I don't know if anyone's told you, Eleanor, but life is rarely _fair_."

Eleanor narrows her eyes, one hand on her hip.

Sighing, Sweeney squeezes his eyes shut and growls, "Fine. I'll talk to the damn brat."

Still sitting on the floor, Eleanor smiles brightly and kisses his knee. "Thanks, love."

XxX

Toby's room looks as if a very old man and a twelve-year-old child are cohabitating, which in a way, Sweeney supposes they are. There are clothes and shoes everywhere, like any typical boy who refuses to pick up after himself but there are no posters of cars or girls on the wall – except an iconic one of Marilyn Monroe trying to keep her dress from flying up. There are books scattered everyone, some of them newer but quite a lot of them brittle and ancient looking, and in different languages. On his nightstand, it appears that Toby is currently reading Magic Mountain in the original German.

In one corner of the room, there is an old-fashioned phonograph currently not in use. Today, Toby has opted for horrible, horrible rap music and it blasts from the speakers of his sound system. He sits at his desk, scowling at his computer and playing some sort of video game with headphones. Standing in the middle of his bedroom and trying not to touch any of the dirty laundry on the floor, Sweeney clears his throat.

Toby doesn't look up.

Scowling, Sweeney snatches up a CD lying on Toby's cluttered dresser and tosses it at the boy's head. It certainly gets a reaction.

Toby shouts as if he'd hurled a brick instead of a plastic case, yanks his headphones out of his ears and turns to him with eyes widened in outrage. "Oi! What the bloody hell was that for?"

Inclining his head in the closest thing of an apology Toby is going to get, Sweeney says, "We need to talk."

Toby scowls and turns back to his computer. "Nothin' to talk about."

He sighs. "I don't particularly want to talk to you either. It was your mother's idea so blame her."

At the mention of Eleanor, Toby's expression darkens further. "I do. She's a right loon for takin' up with you."

Sweeney's hand itches to read for another CD to toss but he bravely resists. His relationship with Eleanor is still very new and he doubts harming her only child would put him in her favor. "Then be angry with me, not her. You know how she gets when the two of you fall out."

Toby snorts and he knows they're both remembering the last time Eleanor and Toby had a row. Eleanor had sulked and made them all listen to Joni Mitchell for _days_. She also ate all the ice cream. The moment Toby sees Sweeney's amusement; he quickly schools his expression back into a glare and averts his eyes to his shoes. "Just cause we been civil lately don't mean I'm okay with this."

Sweeney nods once, eyes tracing over the bookshelves in Toby's room idly and wondering where he stashes the comics Eleanor doesn't like him to have. "Understandable. Is this one of those situations when the child feels threatened by a new man in his mother's life or -"

"_Or_ about you throwin' 'er in an oven to let 'er burn," Toby interrupts, looking livid. "Which do you think, Mr. T?"

Swallowing, Sweeney edges just a bit closer to Toby's desk. "That was a long time ago. Eleanor and I have already made our peace with that."

"Well I 'aven't."

Sweeney sighs. "You killed me too, you know."

"It was self-defense," Toby shoots out of his seat and glowers up at Sweeney. "You killed my mum! I still 'ave nightmares about 'er screams! And now you're tellin' me you want to shack up with 'er?!"

Internally wincing a bit and wondering what the neighbors must think about that rather loud accusation, Sweeney snaps, "Already have, actually."

Toby makes a noise somewhere between a horrified squeak and a groan of mortification. Sweeney tries not to feel too smug. "Why would you say that?" He shouts. "God, do you think I _want_ images like that in my 'ead?!"

Sweeney rolls his eyes. "Would you shut up, boy?"

Toby's glare intensifies but he doesn't offer a retort, probably still feeling a bit scarred.

"I'm sorry you're unhappy about this -" Well, not really but it certainly sounds better than _get the hell over it kid_ "- but Eleanor isn't going to stop seeing me just because you give her the silent treatment so you'd better just get used to it and stop acting like a spoiled child. You're over a hundred for god's sake." He waits for the inevitable hissy fit that will no doubt follow such flippant words.

Through clenched teeth, Toby bites out, "Fine."

Sweeney blinks. "Fine?"

He nods. "There's no stoppin' 'er. She'll do what she wants, like she always does when it comes to you. But I'll be here to pick up the pieces when you bugger it all up. And I know you, Mr. T. You _will_." Taking a step forward, Toby crosses his arms over his chest, looking surprisingly formidable for an old man in the form of a twelve year old. "And when you do, I 'ope you know there will be no runnin' from me. I will hunt you down and bury you alive if I 'ave to. You can spend the rest of eternity suffocatin' underground with no way out. Understood?"

He should probably smack him with something again for his belligerence but Sweeney can't help but feel a bit of admiration. The boy has guts, if nothing else. And as much as he hates to admit it, he appreciates that someone else is so willing to look after Eleanor, should he ever leave. Startlingly, he realizes he doesn't actually have any plans to leave at the moment. Whenever he lives somewhere, he always has an idea in mind - where he'd like to go next. Right now, nowhere comes to mind. He feels oddly content here for one so used to moving about. Clearing his throat and pushing that realization away before he follows the trail of breadcrumbs and discovers something lurking in his mind he isn't quite ready to face yet, he nods. "Understood."

Toby holds out a hand. "Truce?"

Staring at the outstretched hand, Sweeney remembers a summer full of twinkie towers, fanfiction and movie marathons. It looks like paradise when compared to the hostility he has been shown in the last few minutes. He clasps Toby's hand in his own and shakes, eager to make his escape. "Truce. Now I'm sending your mother in. Be prepared to apologize."

As Toby huffs and falls back into his seat, reaching for his headphones again, Sweeney starts for the door, careful not to step on a pair of Toby's boxers lying in the floor. "Mr. T?"

"Hm?"

"I still hate you."

Sweeney suppresses a snort and steps out into the hall. "Mutual, boy."

In the kitchen, Eleanor looks up from eating her way through a carton of ice cream, her expression hopeful. "Well?"

"It's fine," he says, snatching the spoon from her and ignoring her squawk of protest. "All better."

Eleanor watches him carefully, eyes old and knowing. "Are you lyin' to me, Sweeney Todd?"

He sighs and pushes her from her bar stool, taking it for himself and leaving her standing next to him, hands on her hips, ice cream still clinging to the corner of her mouth. "We've reached a truce. Don't push it."

"Oh, love," she beams, radiant, and he knows he just saved himself from a week straight of listening to Joni Mitchell. "I knew you could do it!"

The sticky, Rocky Road flavored kiss she presses to his lips is almost worth the awkward conversation he just endured with her son.

Almost.


End file.
